


The Sea Dogs Affair

by paulah_GJ



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 18:05:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16413290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulah_GJ/pseuds/paulah_GJ
Summary: Illya's new American citizenship makes him feel truly free for the first time in his life.  Finally he can explore his unaccepted sexual preferences without fear of reprisals from his KGB masters.  A mission on a cruise ship gives him the perfect place to do so.  Unfortunately, Napoleon isn't quite as pleased about Illya's newfound freedom as Illya himself.





	The Sea Dogs Affair

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a small break from the Full Circle series to post this one-shot. Hope you enjoy!!

Illya sat in the back of a taxi with two other men. The three met at the hotel and were all headed to the dock to board their new ship, the _Caribbean Queen_ , a luxury cruise ship on a seven day tour of the Gulf of Mexico. The other two had flown in to fill the empty posts after some members deserted, apparently wanting to become American citizens.

 

Becoming an American citizen was something Illya was very familiar with. He was still getting used to the idea. As he listened to the men chatter about their great opportunities on the ship he thought about the last conversation he had with Alexander Waverly before coming out here.

 

Two days ago…

 

_“Come in and sit down Mr. Kuryakin,” Waverly said as the large doors slid closed behind the Russian._

_Illya obeyed without comment, knowing Waverly would divulge his business when ready to do so. The head of UNCLE New York held a folder in his hands and read the papers in silence a moment or two longer before raising his head to speak._

_“Mr. Kuryakin. As you know I have the report from the medical section on your latest physical. That last concussion you suffered was quite a severe one.”_

_“Yes sir,” Illya replied. “But I am well now. I feel I am fit for duty in the field as well as the labs.”_

_Waverly nodded noncommittally. “Yes. I thought you would say just that. You do know that they recommend a further two months healing time and then another physical.”_

_Again Illya nodded. “Yes sir. I was informed by the doctor. He was worried about cumulative damage. I have suffered headaches but I do not think they are significant of anything serious.”_

_“I hope not,” Waverly agreed but did not display an overly optimistic expression. “I would hate to lose you but we must consider the consequences. We did discuss this several months ago and the conclusion was should you be pulled from the field it was likely you would be recalled to the Soviet Union.”_

_Illya worried about the possibility but gave no sign by way of expression or posture._

_Waverly closed the file and laid it on the desk. He pressed a button and the large round table turned until the pale yellow folder sat in front of Kuryakin. “Our discussions at that time, with your permission, has had me working on a solution to benefit you and, of course, UNCLE as a whole."_

_Illya looked down at the unmarked file. He already knew what it contained. It scared him, thrilled him, and confused him, all at the same time. He swallowed with difficulty as his throat seemed to go dry. It was almost terrifying to reach out and pick it up._

_“It is official now. Congratulations Mr. Kuryakin.”_

_Illya opened the file. A blue passport topped the pile of documents, opened to the identity page. Illya Kuryakin. American citizen. A long moment of silence followed before he could speak. When it did come out it was almost lost in the sudden shock of what it all meant._

_“Th... thank you sir. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I will do my best to be a good American.”_

_Waverly gave him a ghost of a smile. “Quite,” the simple reply came. He then turned attention to the other matter before him. “Now we have other matters to contend with. Your field status will become an issue soon. Retirement from the field is not far in the future either.   UNCLE will still need you in the lab and in many other aspects of our work world wide. In the meanwhile I have a rather simple assignment for you and Mr. Solo.”_

_Illya gave a slight glance over his shoulder toward the door. “Yes. I was wondering where Napoleon was.”_

_“Already on board,” Waverly stated. “You will be joining him soon. The_ Caribbean Queen _. It is a cruise ship in the Gulf. He is under cover already and you will be boarding on Saturday.” Waverly put another packet on the table and spun it to Illya. “Your papers for your cover are all there. Just act natural. A thicker accent would be an asset in this case. It’s a relatively straightforward assignment. Prince Fredrick of Belgium and his bride, Princess Helene, are honeymooning on the ship. There have been indications that THRUSH would take advantage of this to attempt a kidnapping.”_

_“And you want Solo and I to prevent that.”_

_“Yes Mr. Kuryakin. It shouldn’t be too difficult for the two of you.”_

 

Back to the present …

 

In thickly accented English, a Spaniard in the front seat spoke up.   “Wow. She is even bigger than the pictures I have seen.”

 

Illya looked out of the taxi along the length of the dock where the ship was birthed. It was large but nowhere near as large as some of the super-carriers he’d been on. He laid on the accent as well and agreed with the man. “Yes. Is magnificent.”

 

The cab stopped outside the building on the dock. They would have to report to the head steward for assignment inside. No passengers milled about yet, a little too early for them to arrive. That would not be long though. As it was, tons of supplies were being loaded and the whole inside of the ship was likely getting a thorough cleaning for the next departure.

 

“You three,” a man with a clipboard said on seeing Illya and the other two arrivals. “Are you my new stewards?”

 

All three eagerly stepped up hoping to impress their new boss. He walked along inspecting them. Pointing to the Spaniard, he stated, “You shave. No beards or moustaches.” Then to the Moroccan he frowned. “Your nails need to be cleaned and trimmed. This is a first class ship and we have to impress our guests.” Lastly he looked Illya over. “Get a haircut.” He shook his head unimpressed with the help he was getting and began to walk toward the ship. “Well what are you waiting for? We don’t have time to waste.”

 

The three quickly followed the man up the gangway to find their quarters and change.

 

Illya Kuryakin and Enrique Santobello were put in a four bunk room together. Personal belongings already in place told them they shared the space with two more who were obviously working at that moment. The two men looked at each other and then without a second thought began to undress to put on their uniforms.

 

On the upper deck….

 

 

Napoleon Solo straightened his jacket. He stood erect looking his finest, clipboard in hand. A passenger list with cabin assignments at hand, he would help with the boarding as the guests arrived.

 

“Hi there!” said a woman with a thick Texas twang. She appeared to be in her early twenties—twenty-three, Napoleon guessed—with thick blonde hair and blue-gray eyes. “Can ya’ll tell me where I can find cabin, um…” She checked her boarding pass. “Riviera 585?”

 

Napoleon gave her one of his patented smiles, filing her room number away for possible later use. He checked the passenger list. “Ah, yes. Miss Stout.” What a terrible name for such a beautiful woman. Didn’t fit her at all.

 

“That’s me! But on this trip I don’t want to be called Miss anything. Twyla will do very nicely, thank you.”

 

“Lovely name,” he said, putting a little more wattage in his smile. Actually, he thought the first name was worse than the last. If he ever had a chance to get to know her better, he would just call her “sweetheart.”

 

He lifted the papers on the top of his clipboard and revealed a map of the ship. With a manicured finger he pointed to the area of the Main Atrium where they now stood. “We’re here.” His finger moved across the map. “And this is your room. If you will take the main elevators over there,” he continued, pointing to a corridor to the right, “down to Riviera deck, you will then turn right and it will be in that hallway.”

 

She flashed him a flirtatious smile. “Can’t you show me personally?”

 

He tapped her on the nose. “Much as I would love to do that, I have to see to the other passengers, first. Perhaps we can meet for a drink later?”

 

She fluttered her lashes. “Oh, that would be great! See ya then, darlin’!” She swished away, her hips swaying provocatively.

 

Napoleon kept his eyes on her nice derriere until the next passenger took his attention. A few minutes later, yet another lovely young woman stopped at his post. This one was the opposite to Twyla Stout. Where Miss Texas was light and sunshine, this woman was the desert at night. Shining dark hair cascaded over her light brown shoulders like an unexpected but welcomed waterfall in a dark oasis. Dark eyes that flashed with mystery in an exotic face.

 

Stunning fell short of her beauty and Napoleon was in awe of her. The picture he’d viewed during the briefing for this mission did not do her justice. Yasmin Al-Jahar, daughter of an oil-rich immigrant living in Washington, DC, followed by her rather large entourage, flashed him the most brilliantly white smile he had ever seen.

 

“Good afternoon,” she said, her dulcet tones as darkly rich as her beauty. “I am Yasmin Al-Jahar. Could you please tell me where I might find my suite and those of my people?” She gestured to her followers.

 

Napoleon’s smile contained teeth almost as white. They should be. UNCLE dentists were supposed to be the best. He made a show of looking at his passenger list although he knew exactly where her suites and those of her people were located. She was, after all, his and Illya’s mission. “Yes, Miss Al-Jahar. You are on the Atlantic deck. If you’ll come with me, I will be happy to personally escort you there.”

 

Her eyes, somewhat cold and distant up to now, warmed a few degrees. “I would greatly appreciate that. Thank you.”

 

She took Napoleon’s offered arm and he walked her to the bank of elevators. This promised to be an interesting trip.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Enrique surreptitiously eyed his new roommate. He was a handsome man. Exotic good looks with his blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. The icy gaze did nothing to cool him, having instead the opposite effect. One look at those gorgeous blues was enough to light a flame of desire in Enrique’s groin.

 

“I’m Enrique Santobello,” he introduced, extending his hand. Hopefully his new eye candy wouldn’t notice the raging hard-on in Enrique’s crisp new white work trousers. If he did notice, hopefully the man would either think it was because of the lovely women they’d passed on the way here or, better yet, return Enrique’s interest. He didn’t count on that part because most men, especially in this part of the world, did not share his interest. Still, it happened sometimes and a man could hope.

 

Illya ignored the bulge in Enrique’s tight pants. It was easy for him to do so. He had lots of practice. That particular yearning of his had only seen the light of day a few times when he was a student in Paris. Since then, he’d kept that part of himself firmly under wraps. Still, he was no longer a Russian citizen and he supposed that meant he could at least look now. It was nice that the first man he felt he could look at like that was darkly handsome.

 

He shook the Spaniard’s hand. “Vanya Stolichnaya.” He hated the cover name headquarters had saddled him with. Ivan Stolichnaya. The first the Russian equivalent to the American name John and the second a brand of vodka popular in the USSR. Granted, most people in this part of the world had never heard of the drink, but his knowledge that he was named after alcohol grated on his nerves. He wondered if the boys and girls in Section 5 were making a comment on his drinking habits. He might have to make a comment of his own about their bad manners.

 

The only thing he could do to make his plight a little better was to go by the common nickname. It was what he used to call his little brother. At least he had until little Vanya was murdered at Baba Yar. Illya pushed the sudden memories back into their dungeon and firmly shut and locked the door.

 

“Well,” Enrique said, running a nervous hand through his slicked down black hair. “I guess we should report to our superior officer before they throw us in the brig.”

 

Illya snorted. “This is not exactly Navy, but I suppose we should report.”

 

Enrique smiled shyly at him and waved for him to go first. Illya almost balked, not wanting to feel the man’s eyes on his butt the entire trip to the office of the head steward. “ _Why not?”_ a little voice whispered in the back of his mind.

 

Why not, indeed. It might be nice to let himself enjoy that visual caress again. It had been such a long time and he didn’t have to act on it. He was an American now and he could allow a little bit of decadence into his life. He grinned at Enrique and walked in front of him, enjoying the sensation of the dark eyes focusing on his backside.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><>

 

In the office adjacent to one of the kitchens, David Anderson reviewed his assignment lists among the hustle and bustle of the everyday life behind the scenes of what passengers thought of a serene trip at sea. For him nothing could be farther from the truth.

 

Anderson looked up as Stolichnaya and Santobello entered the office. “You’re late.”

 

The two men looked at each other, unaware of the time they were supposed to arrive.

 

“Never mind,” Anderson said waving off the reprimand. “I have your assignments here. Passengers are already starting to arrive and you are to aid the baggage handlers in getting their things to the right rooms. Stoly,” he said shortening Illya’s name. “You are on Atlantic deck, first class starboard rooms. Santa. Same but you will be on the port side. Remember your smiles and the rules of etiquette you were instructed on.”

 

“Yes sir,” the two said in unison.

 

Anderson looked down at his list for a moment and then up at the two men again. “Well… What are you waiting for?”

 

Quickly the two turned on their heels and walked out the door to head up to their deck.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

“Stoly,” Santobello laughed. “I think I like Vanya better,” he said eyes twinkling with attraction at Illya in his uniform. “You wear that well you know.”

 

Illya was unfamiliar with such obvious flirting. Inside he found it thrilling and yet still was shy about acknowledging such a comment. “Er… thank you. Uh… so do you.”

 

“Thanks. I work out on my free time,” he explained as they took the stairs up to their deck. “You look like you exercise some too. Maybe we could workout together sometime,” he suggested.

 

Illya nodded without thinking about it as he quickly ran over details of the mission in his mind.

 

Enrique was happy. He thought he’d found a kindred spirit in Ivan Stolichnaya. It was entirely conceivable that the two could get much closer as the cruise took shape. “I will see you later,” he said as they arrived at their floor and headed their separate directions.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon walked alongside Miss Al-Jahar making polite small talk as they went. Her dark eyes sparkled as she smiled at him. Then he spotted the steward enter the hall from the service corridor. He snapped his fingers to get the man’s attention.

 

Illya hid his growl. He was undercover so he walked over quickly. “Yes. How may I help you?”

 

“Miss Al-Jahar’s room. Open it up please,” Napoleon said handing over the key and examining his name tag. “Stolychnaya?”

 

“Uh… Yes sir. I have just started with your wonderful company,” he said laying the accent on thick. He took the key and opened the door. Then he hurried inside to open the windows for some fresh air. He scanned the room for security reference should the need arise. “Is there anything I may get for you Ma’am?” he asked.

 

“Towels,” she said with a nod and a smile. “There are never enough of them in my experience.”

 

Illya gave a slight bow and went to retrieve the towels. On his way out he gestured to Napoleon that the room was clear.

 

“Miss Al-Jahar, if you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me. My extension is 55.” He took out a card, wrote the number down beside his name and placed it beside the onboard phone.

 

She beamed at him. “Thank you, Mr. Gorganzola,” she purred. “I will commit your number to memory.”

 

“Please, Miss Al-Jahar. Please call me Guiseppi.” He took her hand and leaned over to touch his lips to her long fingers. “I will leave you to settle in.” He flipped her a jaunty salute and left.

 

He met Illya in the hallway, whose arms were laden with the extra towels. He flicked at the top towel, enjoying the way Illya went cross-eyed as he watched Napoleon’s finger threatening to topple his towel tower. “Make sure you keep the lovely lady in fresh towels, boy,” he teased, his tone condescending.

 

“I’d better not catch you in any of them,” Illya groused.

 

Napoleon smiled. “You’d rather see me with the towel off?”

 

An unsettling image of a wet, naked, aroused Napoleon flashed in Illya’s mind. Not that he had never seen Napoleon naked before. Aroused, too. The difference was that Illya had not allowed himself to look at a man in that way then. The consequences would have been too great. But now that he was out from under the KGB’s red thumb, his way of thinking was changing. Amazing at what kind of a world a simple change in citizenship opened up for him. Still, womanizer Napoleon would not want to know of his male partner’s interest.

 

Illya flipped a strand piece of hair out of his face. “I’d rather not see you at all in her room,” he snapped, the unwelcome image going once more through his mind.

 

Napoleon’s smile widened in mischievous delight. “Jealous?”

 

“Certainly not,” Illya snorted, trying to convince himself as much as Napoleon. What did he care who Napoleon bedded? “I just usually get into trouble because you have a sexual affair during a working affair.” Yes. That was the reason why he wasn’t jealous. Not at all. Just concerned for his personal safety and that of his partner.

 

Napoleon’s chuckle sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“Of course, tovarisch,” Napoleon agreed. He put the slight “ch” sound at the end.

 

Illya once told him Russian’s tended to dislike the Ukrainian pronunciation of the word. Although Illya lived in the Ukraine for the first few years of his life, he was Russian and he took Napoleon’s Ukrainian usage of the word as a personal barb. He also took it as Napoleon’s way of telling him he didn’t believe a word of it.

 

Illya glared at Napoleon until he turned and headed down the corridor towards the area that held a bank of elevators. Once Napoleon’s back was to him, his expression softened and he watched the graceful movement of his partner’s powerful body until it disappeared from his sight.

 

This time the image in his mind included a nude Yasmin Al-Jahar and Illya’s sexual interest flagged. That was good . . . sort of. At least he no longer felt desire coursing through his veins. The fact that it was because he’d imagined a woman in the picture was a little disconcerting.

 

He supposed it shouldn’t be. He always knew he harbored an interest in men. Even as a young teen he found himself taking surreptitious looks at his fellow male classmates and trainees more than he did at the occasional girlie pictures that sometimes found their way into his hands. Found himself yearning for the touch of a particularly attractive man as opposed to that of a beautiful woman.

 

He’d quickly sublimated such desires. In his world—that of the KGB—such things could only end two ways. Either he would be summarily executed or, worse, put to work as a lure to entrap sexual deviants. Neither appealed so he honed his taste for women and avoided any possible entanglements with men at all costs.

 

It worked. He still lived and he never had to use his body for Mother Russia. He didn’t mind too much, or at least he told himself he didn’t. He liked women well enough. He could perform with them and could use them to take care of his baser male needs. He never found sex with them truly satisfying, so he kept such trysts to the bare minimum. Even so, he was not necessarily dissatisfied, so he was content with the situation.

 

Mostly.

 

He couldn’t seem to stop his true desires from surfacing when he was alone. His fantasies always involved a man. No matter how he tried, when he took matters into his own hands, he simply could not bring a woman to mind and find sexual release. Had to admit, too, that he felt far more satisfied with his own hand than he did with the touch of a woman. He didn’t hate this part of himself, he merely accepted it, just as he accepted the fact that as a Soviet citizen he would never be able to experience his fantasies in reality.

 

Now, suddenly, he was no longer a Soviet citizen and he found himself entertaining the possibilities. He allowed himself the guilty pleasure of pondering this new freedom as he delivered the towels and went on with his other duties as a steward.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Boarding was a hectic time on the ship. Illya’s face felt numb from so much smiling when his shift was over and he headed to the crew’s dining salon, a crowded plain room that stood in sharp contrast to the spacious luxury the passengers enjoyed. Still, the food was good. It was prepared in the same kitchens by the same people that cooked for the passenger and quite tasty.

 

“Vanya!” The Spaniard said as he pulled up a chair beside Illya. “Mind if I join you?”

 

Illya looked up at his new room mate. “Please sit and enjoy your dinner,” he said in a tired voice.

 

“You look beat my friend,”

 

“I am bit tired, Enrique,” he replied and tore off a piece of his bread to dip into his soup.

 

“Rico. Call me Rico. We are friends, no?” he said and gave him a squeeze on the shoulder.

 

Illya looked at the hand and then at Rico. “Yes. Rico.”

 

The man sat down and dipped his spoon into the soup. “Mmmmm. Good. They feed us well.”

 

“Yes,” Illya agreed. “This is one of better companies.” He’d had plenty of bad food at sea on cargo vessels and low end passenger ships.

 

“Would you pass the pepper please,” Rico asked.

 

“Not hot enough for you?’ Illya asked.

 

“Not quite,” Rico replied. “But did you see that cruise director?” He shook his hand as if to cool it. “Now that man is a tasty dish.”

 

Illya blinked and coughed on the soup in his mouth. “Excuse me?”

 

“Surely you saw him up there pampering the first class passengers.”

 

“Uh….(cough) er.. yes. I saw him.” _You have no idea how often I have thought of him that way too_.

 

Rico ate a little more of his soup before speaking again. “There is a group of fashion designers on board. Did you hear about it?”

 

Illya cleared his throat. “That would explain it.”

 

“Explain what?” Rico asked curiously.

 

Illya pushed back his near empty bowl and dabbed at his lips with the napkin. “The man in cabin 23. He made pass at me when I attended to room.”

 

“Oh? What happened?”

 

Illya smirked and shook his head. “Not here. Will tell you later.” What could it hurt? He was supposed to be a member of the crew and letting others think of him as a friend would only help to that end.

 

Rico nodded and let out a little snort of amusement. “I’ll hold you to that.”

 

<><><><><><><><><><>

 

The two men spent the rest of the evening in the crew lounge with others talking about the departure and getting to know everyone else. There was card playing, smoking, a little drinking, and chatter going on all around the room. Illya could feel the camaraderie building among everyone as the night went on.

 

Illya relaxed and had a few drinks while chatting. It wasn’t like him to be this friendly. He tried to convince himself it was just his assignment to be socializing this way. For some reason things felt different though. A thought suddenly ran through his head. _Is this what it means to be free to feel life for yourself? How do I do this?_

His thinking was interrupted by Rico shaking him by the shoulder. “Come on. We better get to our room and get some sleep before we have to get up in the morning.”

 

Illya set down his empty glass and nodded. The two men said their goodbyes to the others and went down to their quarters in the cramped crew’s spaces.

 

<><><><><><><>

 

The two men were tired and well lubricated, although not drunk. They began undressing to get ready for bed. Since their other two cabin mates were on the night shift it was relatively quiet in their room.

 

“You said you’d tell me about today,” Rico said removing his shirt. “So how about it?”

 

“What?” Illya asked as he did the same.

 

Rico leaned over Illya’s shoulder. “You know,” he said in a low voice right into his ear. “The man. The one who made a pass at you.”

 

The hot breath made Illya shiver, sending a ripple down his back and shoulders.

 

Rico felt the motion and it gave him a little thrill.

 

“Oh, him,” Illya said, trying not to react to the nearness of the handsome Spaniard. “He suggested I might like to come back and change the sheets on bed tonight. AFTER I helped him dirty them. Then he, um, . . .” He paused, embarrassed and more than a little turned on by what the designer had done at that point.

 

“Um, what?” Rico encouraged. He licked his lips.

 

Illya watched the pink tongue run over his roommate’s full lips and swallowed hard. Sharing a room with this man might prove more dangerous than dodging a THRUSH bullet. He cleared his throat and stepped away from Rico. He shook his head. “Nothing really. He just did some inappropriate touching.”

 

“Oh? Maybe you misunderstood him. Different kinds of touching can mean different things.” Rico closed the gap between them once more. He reached out and placed a hand on Illya’s shoulder, just as he had earlier. “If he did this he wasn’t making a pass at you. This is not a sexual touch.”

 

Illya quivered under the man’s hand. Felt like a sexual touch to him, at least at the moment.

 

Encouraged by the response, Rico continued. He reached up and brushed the hair back from Illya’s high forehead, uncovering the man’s brilliant blue eyes. He had the look of a deer caught in the headlights. Fearful yet fascinated. So. He was a virgin to this kind of love. His response suggested he wasn’t against it, though. “This, on the other hand,” Rico said, voice shaking slightly, “might be a sexual overture.”

 

His hand slid down Illya’s silky blond hair and around to the back of his neck. He pulled Illya closer to him and brushed the luscious lips with his own. “And this,” he whispered, pleased that his roommate had not punched him, “is definitely a pass.”

 

Their breath mingled together as they stood close staring at each other. Illya wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, he just knew he shouldn’t.

 

_Why not?_ a small voice in his head insisted.

 

Because…because…because why? He no longer had to worry about retribution from the Soviet Union. As for U.N.C.L.E., there were a number of known homosexuals in the organization. Waverly and the other Section One members decided long ago that their organization would be one of tolerance in all things. Besides, it was Waverly’s considered opinion that the main reason homosexuals were open to blackmail was because of fear of losing their job if their employer found out. He always said that if the employer already knew of it, the blackmail potential was relatively nullified.

 

Illya licked his lips. “That wasn’t exactly what he did,” he said softly, his voice sounding strangled even to him.

 

“Oh?” Rico asked, continuing to hold Illya’s gaze. “What did he do?”

 

Illya hesitated, then slowly ran his hand down Rico’s body before cupping his round butt. “This.”

 

Rico’s breath hissed between his teeth. A low moan escaped him. “Yes,” he whispered. “That’s a pass.”

 

“I thought so,” Illya replied. He left his hand where it was.

 

Rico suddenly lunged and took Illya’s mouth in a hard kiss. Their tongues intertwined and dueled in a frenzied dance of desire. Rico’s hands were busily working at the button of Illya’s trousers. It took him mere seconds to have the pants opened and his hand inside and rubbing at Illya’s rigid cock.

 

Illya pressed into the searching hand. At the same time he squeezed Rico’s buttocks, trying to pull him closer.

 

Rico frantically kissed and bit his way down Illya’s neck and across his chest, stopping momentarily at each nipple to suckle them into rigid little nubs. Illya barely had time to register the sensations before the Spaniard was falling onto his knees, pushing the trousers down and engulfing Illya’s cock into his hot mouth.

 

Illya yelped in surprise and delight, practically passing out at the exquisite sensations centering in his groin and traveling at light speed along his suddenly hypersensitive nerves. The intense feelings built up in him quickly and before long he exploded into Rico’s hungry mouth.

 

Illya’s knees buckled and he dropped down beside Rico. The Spaniard’s strong arms wrapped around him and held him close until he could recover. Illya lay panting, his head resting against his new friend’s shoulder.

 

Rico chuckled. “I guess you liked that.”

 

Illya moaned his agreement. Not only had Rico blown his cock, the man had also blown his mind. Illya had never experienced anything like it before in his life. Not even the women that did it for him had exhibited the expertise and pure joy of the act that Rico put into it.

 

Rico’s hands roamed over Illya’s back and down to his pert butt. “Vanya,” Rico whispered into Illya’s ear. “I would very much like to fuck you.”

 

Illya yanked back at the suggestion. “No! I...no...no!” He shook his head violently as he scrambled out of Rico’s embrace. The possible pain of it wasn’t what bothered him. The trust such an act would take terrified him. He couldn’t possibly let anyone, man or woman, have such control over him or be behind him when he was in such a vulnerable position.

 

“I…I need some time,” Illya explained as he held onto Rico’s arms. He relaxed his grip not wanting to frighten the man away and yet he couldn’t bring himself to draw him closer right now. He licked his lips and gave him a sweet smile. “L... let me try that on you. I’m new at this.”

 

Rico sensed the truth in Illya’s sparkling blue eyes. He ran a gentle hand along the jaw to Vanya’s chin. “Are you sure?”

 

Illya nodded nervously but began to lower himself. “I want to. I can do this,” he said finding it true. He really did want to. There was something more to this. It was defining his freedom in some way.

 

“Alright,” Rico replied easing Illya’s shoulders into the right position. “I’ll tell you how,” he said smiling gently as they began. “First of all don’t rush. The best way is to do what you would like done to you.”

 

It was Illya and Rico alone in the cabin doing behind closed doors the thing the Russian craved and feared the most. He couldn’t get enough of this. It was so strangely liberating for his shackled soul.

 

<><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon was on the job early in the morning. There was a lot of coordinating to be done for the fashion shows featured on this cruise. By the time he stopped for breakfast it was late and fortunately Illya was just coming on duty.

 

“Ah… Stoly,” Napoleon said pausing to read the name tag. “May I share the table with you?”

 

Illya was nursing the last of his coffee before beginning his shift. “Certainly Mr. Cheese,” he said quietly so none would hear his snide comment.

 

Napoleon rolled his eyes upward and sat down. Quietly he began to speak as if he was chatting but in a very low voice. “So what’s the scoop?”

 

“Two,” Illya replied as he put his cereal bowl on the tray to return when he was done.

 

“Two what?” Napoleon asked confused.

 

“Two scoops in every box, it said,” he replied flashing the empty raisin bran box at him.

 

Napoleon shook his head. “I meant have you found out anything to be worried about concerning our mission.”

 

Illya thought about it. “Nothing so far,” he said after slight hesitation.

 

“But?” Napoleon said waiting for more as if Illya wanted to say something else.

 

Illya shook his head for as much to clear the image of Napoleon licking his lips and to say no at the same time. “Just some of the guests on that floor are a little different.” His mind kept returning to the thought of Napoleon’s mouth on his cock like Rico’s was the night before. He tried to force back the arousal and was glad he didn’t have to stand up right at this moment.

 

Napoleon nibbled on his danish and then licked the crumbs from his fingers.

 

_I’d love to do that,_ Illya thought as he watched Napoleon eat.

 

Once he swallowed a sip of coffee to wash down the pastry, Napoleon asked, “Different? How so?”

 

Illya wasn’t sure how the Americans put it into expression. “Well I think the man in Atlantic 23 portside is homosexual.”

 

Napoleon smirked trying not to smile. “Oh?” he replied finding the grin hard to hold back. He cleared his throat to try and sound more serious. “And just what makes you think that?” He could just picture the incident even without description.

 

Illya squirmed in his seat. His mind flashed over the events with Rico the night before and he imagined how it would have been with the fashion designer who’d made the pass at him. _What’s wrong with me?_ His brow furrowed as he tried to control his thoughts once more. “He … he …”

 

“Yes?” Napoleon asked waiting patiently.

 

Illya swallowed hard. “He made a pass at me.”

 

Something in the pit of Napoleon’s stomach twitched at the thought. He expected Illya to say just that and he knew he would find it amusing but there was something else to it as well. It was almost as if Napoleon could imagine himself switching places and taking such liberties with his partner. “Oh… well … I wouldn’t worry about it Illya,” he finally stated. “A good many of the fashion designers out there are … are known to be… “ He flashed a smile. “Gay. Just how exactly did this… pass …go?” he asked.

 

Illya’s eyes widened as he remembered what happened when he’d told Rico the story. He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I left before he went too far.” He stood up and picked up the tray. “I have to get to work now. My supervisor does not like us to be late.” He felt the need to get out of there. Fast.

 

Napoleon’s head turned to follow Illya as the man walked back to the counter with the tray. His eyes never left the tight well defined butt until it disappeared out the cafeteria door. _I never really noticed how good Illya looked in a uniform before._

Napoleon didn’t wonder why the fashion designer found Illya attractive. He did wonder why he chose this moment to think about it. It wasn’t that he found male on male sex disgusting. Quite the contrary. He’d had his experiences with it and for the most part liked it. He made the choice long ago that he would stick to women, though. Partly because he preferred them in general and partly because in his present lifestyle he simply didn’t consider the complications of homosexual liaisons—no matter how pleasurable he found them—worth the price he might pay if discovered.

 

As for his partner, of course he’d noticed the blond Russian’s beauty the moment they met. How could he not? Few people could ignore that golden mop with all its myriad gold and platinum highlights nor those piercing blue eyes.

 

Napoleon snorted softly into his coffee cup. _How_ people reacted to Illya varied, however. Mostly because of the combination of striking good looks and the attitude of indifference he adopted.

 

Everyone wanted to make him respond to him by touching him. His hair, his hard body—although short in stature, Illya had a _very_ hard body—his full lips. The difference often came in how they wanted to touch. Some preferred the idea of light caresses and soft kisses, to bring melting passion to those intense eyes.

 

Others sought to break him. They, too, wanted to touch that hair, not with lightness but with rough pulls. To force his tough body into submission. To see fear in those unyielding blue eyes.

 

As for what Napoleon wanted, well, that had changed in the two years of their partnership. At first, he noted the beauty of his partner but then regulated the realization into the murkiest parts of his psyche. His partner was there to help him accomplish missions and keep his ass out of the hottest of the fires, not for fucking.

 

There were times Napoleon had to force his libido back at the sight of Illya. Contrary to popular belief, his Russian friend did not really have a lot of modesty. What modesty he did show was all an act. Illya had no problems parading nude around their shared hotel rooms. One time he’d even done so in a hospital when the nurse wouldn’t give him his clothes. Instead of turning on the charm and talking her into retrieving them, and Illya _did_ possess charm even if he seldom used it, he simply walked naked down the hospital corridors until someone gave him something to wear.  

 

Napoleon grinned at the memory. He only wished he’d been a fly on the wall of that hospital! Illya loved to give medical personnel what Napoleon’s grandmother used to call conniption fits. Illya hated doctors, and by association, nurses, so much that he enjoyed throwing them into pseudo heart attacks.  

 

Napoleon loved that aspect of Illya. He loved a lot of things about him. Napoleon’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d just thought. He loved Illya. _Of course I do,_ he told himself. _A partnership is more intimate than most marriages. He’s my best friend. My right hand man. My white knight. My savior._

 

He shifted uncomfortably at the last thought. Savior was the wrong word. Illya came to the rescue when necessary, but savior suggested something far more than Napoleon was willing to accept. No. Best friend and reliable partner. That was Illya. Nothing more.

 

He finished off his coffee and roll and went to work before his thoughts took him into a far deeper quagmire.

 

<><><><><><><>

 

Illya worked with only a third of his mind on his steward job. Another third was occupied watching the comings and goings in Miss Al-Jahar’s stateroom. The last third focused on his recent encounter with Rico, fantasies involving the fashion designer, and thoughts on how good Napoleon looked in his uniform.

 

He shied away from the last one. He should shy away from all of it. After all, his desire for men was considered deviant behavior in his adopted country as much as in that of his birth. The consequences for such things in America were much less than those of the Soviet Union, but he still felt uneasy about this recent turn of events. Unfortunately, letting Rico seduce him had opened a Pandora’s box he was afraid he would not be able to close easily.

 

He shook his head. This was ridiculous. He was not Napoleon! Unlike his partner, he preferred to think with the head between his shoulders. He didn’t allow himself to be distracted by the head between his legs.

 

_What you do when you aren’t needed to watch the package isn’t being distracted,_ a tiny voice insisted. It was right, in a way. Why couldn’t he indulge a bit? Napoleon did it all the time and was able to do his part of a mission. Well, mostly. Why couldn’t he?

 

He was still trying to find a reason not to follow his desires when he noticed someone fiddling with the doorknob at Miss Al-Jahar’s suite.

 

Illya walked up to the gentleman. “Having some trouble sir?”

 

Adrian Bernard stood up surprised at the voice. He saw the steward and sighed in relief. “Yes you can. My key won’t work. I can’t unlock my door,” he complained.

 

Illya gave him the regulation smile. He took the key from the man’s hand. “I think you’ll find it works better in your own door. This is suite 19. You are in 23.”

 

Adrian glanced up at the door dumbfounded. “Oh yes. How careless of me,” he giggled. He followed Illya to his door. “Thank you. I must have stayed out too late last night. It’s muddled my thinking,” he said as he admired the Illya's backside without even trying to be discreet.

 

Illya opened the man’s door and decided to linger awhile to check him out. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t a THRUSH implant on the ship. “If you’re tired I can turn down the bed for you,” he offered.

 

Adrian found that thought stimulating. “That would be very nice of you. Please,” he said extending a hand inviting him to do so. He admired Illya's butt some more when the Russian walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers. Slowly Adrian closed the door and leaned against it with his back, blocking the way out, although not with an adversarial sort of demeanor.

 

Illya stood up and looked at Adrian with a little hesitation. He’d seen that look before. It didn’t make him nervous like it usually did. In fact he felt a little twinge of excitement in the pit of his stomach. This was new. In the past such a thought would be so frightening for the consequences he’d never even allow himself the pleasure of imagining something like this. Freedom was a strange feeling.

 

“Uh…. Will there be anything else sir?” he asked as he moved toward the door.

 

Adrian stood up and stepped toward Illya looking him up and down. “You know that uniform is nice on you,” he said.

 

Illya glanced down at himself. “Thank you sir. We are supposed to keep appearance neat and tidy for our patrons.” He guessed that wasn’t what Mr. Bernard meant but what else could he say?

 

“I’m a designer,” Adrian said moving closer and reaching for the sleeve of the jacket as if to adjust it. “You fill this out well. In fact,” he said pressing his body a little closer, testing the steward’s acceptance of his presence. “I think you’d probably look good out of the jacket as well.”

 

“Uh…Th..thank you,” Illya replied trying to get some air into his lungs. He wondered why he wasn’t pushing the man back for invading his personal space but inside he could feel his heart beating faster and he could imagine the dark haired good looking young man giving him the same pleasure Rico did. His cock twitched at the thought and he felt Adrian’s hand slide down his belly to cup the prize.

 

“This is nice,” he whispered into Illya’s ear spurred on by the lack of resistance at his advances.

 

Illya felt the hot breath on his ear and without conscious thought he tipped his head back exposing his neck for exploration.

 

Adrian gently urged Illya back toward the bed. Illya’s knees bent and he landed gently on the mattress as his belt was unclipped and the zipper opened to free his eager penis.

 

“I…,” Illya panted. “I shouldn’t… be doing this.”

 

Adrian brushed the long hair back from the stewards face. “But your job is to make the guests happy, is it not?”

 

Illya knew that was not meant in this sense of the word but he nodded his head, afraid opening his mouth would only end in him begging for more. He’d never felt this easy about sex under a communist flag. Liberation was so… liberating.

 

Before he could protest, not that he really wanted to, Adrian tugged the trousers down over Illya’s hips to his knees and began a deliriously fantastic assault on the growing shaft freed of the white boxers that sheathed it. It felt so good and he could hardly hold on to conscious thought as the pleasure centers in his brain began firing. Then something startled him. A hot wet finger pressed against his rear end and slipped in to press against the sweet spot inside. It felt like his mind exploded but it was so good he could only squirm around wanting more.

 

<><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon Solo was paged to the Atlantic deck by Miss Al-Jahar to arrange a special dinner for her and several of her friends on board. On his way to her room he could hear moaning coming from an adjacent room. A familiar voice seemed to be making the sounds and he paused to listen.

 

Napoleon Solo was well versed in the art of sex and he knew the sounds of it when he heard them. He glanced at the room number with the idea that he would look up who occupied it. His eyes widened. Number 23. The earlier conversation with his partner came to the front of his mind.

 

_“Well I think the man in Atlantic 23 portside is homosexual.”_

No. No! It simply couldn’t be! “Illya?” he whispered. He glanced up and down the corridor to make sure no one was around before stepping up and pressing his ear to the door.

 

“What’s your name, my beautiful man?” This voice was unfamiliar. Probably the man staying in the room.

 

“V-vanya,” Napoleon heard Illya stutter. A low groan followed.

 

“Do you like what I’m doing to you, Vanya?”

 

“Yes.” This one was so quiet Napoleon almost didn’t hear it.

 

He jerked away from the door as if burned. Illya was not only having sex with the man in 23, he enjoyed it! An unbidden image of what the man did to Illya that the usually repressed Russian liked so much jumped into his mind. He wasn’t sure what made him more angry. Illya fucking while on the job or the fact that his own cock seemed to like the idea.

 

He decided on the former. Just what in the hell did Illya think he was doing? They were on a mission, damn it! It was a milk run, yes, and the chances of anything going wrong were about as good as the ship hitting an iceberg in the Gulf of Mexico in the summer, but, still, Illya was on duty and should know better.

 

He reached for the doorknob, thinking to interrupt the little tryst and remind Illya just who was boss around here. His hand stopped before making contact. If he barged in it might blow both of their covers. Would the cruise director dress down a steward? Probably not. Most likely he would go to the steward’s superior and let him take care of it. He was a professional but his anger at the moment was such that he wasn’t sure he could keep from saying something he shouldn’t in front of an innocent. He snorted derisively. Not that the bastard in 23 was an innocent, but he was a civilian.

 

Besides it was too close to Miss Al-Jahar’s room. He didn’t want to make a scene she might see. He’d just have to wait and take care of Illya later. He stalked away, a plan for how he would do that percolating in his mind.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Illya groaned as Adrian wiggled his finger inside him.

 

“You like what I’m doing to you, Vanya?” the handsome designer asked seductively.

 

“Yes,” Illya rasped in a near whisper. _Bozhe moi_ , he couldn’t believe just how much he liked it.

 

“I like it, too. I like it even better when something bigger is inside me.” Adrian rubbed Illya’s crotch suggestively, then leaned in for a gentle kiss.

 

Illya grasped the man’s neck and took control of the kiss, turning it into one of frenzied desire.

 

It was Adrian’s turn to groan under the onslaught. “Oh, God, Vanya. I want you. I want to be fucked by you. Please?”

 

Illya pulled back. “You want me to . . .? I-I’ve never done that.”

 

Adrian laughed. “Then it is about time you did, don’t you think?”

 

Illya nodded breathlessly, his cock becoming incredibly, painfully hard at the idea. He tore Adrian’s clothes off and learned what it was like to fuck a man.

 

An hour later he emerged from room 23. Luckily it was the last room he’d had to clean, so he wasn’t behind in his work. He was a little late in getting back to his room, but that didn’t matter. He was ready to eat some dinner and relax. He should sleep well tonight. He couldn’t remember ever being this sexually sated before.

 

“Hi, Vanya,” Rico greeted when he entered their shared space. “There’s a note for you on the dresser.” He grinned. “A summons to the office of the cruise director. Very ominous.”

 

Illya frowned as he read the missive. Had something happened to Miss Al-Jahar while he was occupied with Adrian? He suddenly felt guilty for his afternoon tryst. “I have to go see Mr. Gorganzola.”

 

“Good luck,” Rico said to Illya’s retreating back. He hoped his roommate wasn’t in trouble. He wanted to keep him around for awhile. He was a good blow for a newcomer to the family. He wanted to see if he was as good a lay, too.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon stayed in his office waiting when he should have been in his cabin sleeping. He had an event to oversee at midnight that promised to go far into the wee hours of the morning but he didn’t care. He was going to give Illya a well deserved dressing down. The nerve of the man, carrying on a sexual liaison while on a mission!

 

A knock sounded on the door, strong and insistent. Aha! Illya. He schooled his expression into one of bland boredom before calling, “Come in!”

 

Illya entered and stopped at the look on Napoleon’s face. He knew all of his partner’s expressions. This one never boded well for the recipient which, in this case, was him. His heart plummeted into his feet. What could possibly have brought this on? Did he know about his romp with Adrian? No! How could he? Whatever it was, though, Napoleon was furious.

 

He turned and gently closed the door behind him using the few seconds to recover his composure and paste an equally bland expression on his own face. He turned back around, planted his feet in front of Napoleon’s desk, crossed his arms over his still-uniformed chest, and raised an eyebrow. “You wished to see me?” He resisted the urge to step back as a smile that could only be described as feral stretched Napoleon’s mouth.

 

“Why, yes, Mr. Stoly. Please sit down.” His voice flowed smooth as honey. Most people would have found it pleasant and soothing.

 

Illya found it disquieting, hearing the tones of danger rippling beneath the syrup. “I’ll stand, thank you.” Ready to run if necessary.

 

Napoleon’s façade crumbled leaving a dark angry cloud in place of the friendly visage. “Sit down, Illya!” A command not a request.

 

Illya quickly went over his options. If he stood he had a better chance of getting out of the office before Napoleon could come at him over the desk. He doubted Napoleon would actually attack him. Not that he did such a thing often, but it happened periodically. His partner would never actually hurt him . . . much. Still it was better to avoid such confrontations, especially when Illya felt at the disadvantage.

 

On the other hand, if he sat, he might just defuse some of Solo’s anger, a very desirable thing. Napoleon was congenial and friendly, but he didn’t rise to be Number 1 of Section 2 by being friendly. No, he got there because he had steal for a spine and, as the saying he recently heard went, balls made of brass. Illya had the reputation around UNCLE as being a ruthless bastard but most people didn’t realize Napoleon was just as ruthless. He was just a little less bloodthirsty about it. Slightly. Well, quite a bit less bloodthirsty, but ruthless nonetheless.

 

Discretion was the better part of valor, so he sat. “Why did you summon me, Napoleon?” he asked, unable to keep the resentful challenge out of his voice.

 

Solo’s expression hardened more than willing to accept the unspoken challenge. “What were you doing in Mr., ah, Bernard’s room earlier?”

 

Illya stiffened but otherwise didn’t outwardly react. He had to be especially careful around Napoleon, the only person in the world that could read him like a book. “Mr. Bernard? Which room is that?” he asked pretending ignorance. The feral smile came back and Illya shivered.

 

“Illya, Illya, Illya,” Napoleon said, his voice dripping honey once more. “You don’t expect me to think you don’t know the names and cabin numbers of every person onboard, especially those on the same deck as Miss Al-Jahar, do you? I know you better.”

 

Yes, and Illya knew he should know better than to try to play the uninformed innocent. He was never uninformed, especially when it came to a mission. He glanced up and to the left as though trying to remember. “Mr. Bernard,” he mused aloud. He brightened as though he just placed the name. “Oh, yes. Room 23.”

 

Napoleon’s smile tightened. “Yes. Room 23. The man who made a pass at you yesterday I believe?”

 

“Yes.” Illya could hear fury beneath the words and a bolt of fear shot through him. “What about him?” he asked warily.

 

Napoleon slowly stood and stalked around his desk, turning Illya’s chair around and leaning down over him, a hand on each chair arm. “Did you have sex with him?” he growled, his rage palpable.

 

When it came to the fight or flight mechanism, Illya’s natural reaction was the former. Anger boiled his blood, obliterating the fear. He met Napoleon’s hot rage with an icy glare. “What if I was?”

 

Napoleon’s eyes widened in shock and he pushed Illya away as though burned. The wheels of the chair skittered across the floor a couple of feet. “You . . . you . . .” he sputtered.

 

Illya jumped to his feet. “What, Napoleon? Queer? Fruit? Fag? Is that what you want to call me?” He paced away from the chair to avoid a possible obstacle if he needed to flee.

 

Napoleon’s lips twisted in disgust. “If the shoe fits.”

 

A curtain of ice dropped over Illya, freezing the pain his friend's words caused, and he regarded his partner coldly. “I don’t know if it does. I was exploring the possibility.” Actually he did know. Had always known. He just kept a tight rein on it out of necessity and fear for his life. He was free now and no longer had to do that.

 

Napoleon’s face grew darker. “And just what do you think Waverly would say about it?”

 

“He doesn’t condemn the practice. He prefers the homosexuals apprise him of their preferences. Believes it lessens the possibility of blackmail. You know that. You have a couple of homosexuals in your circle of favorite acquaintances.”

 

Napoleon’s fists clenched and Illya poised for flight. There were times when it was just stupid to fight. This was one of them. He could not bring himself to injure his partner. At the moment, however, he didn’t think his partner had the same inhibition.

 

“Even if I didn’t have a problem with who you were having sex with, the fact you were doing it during a mission does!” Napoleon snapped. “As I’m sure it will bother Mr. Waverly when I include it in my report. He’s liable to assign you to the labs for good.” He smiled smugly. “If he doesn’t fire you, of course.”

 

Illya’s eyes widened in surprise. “You wouldn’t do that.” Surely not. It wasn’t as if Napoleon hadn’t done the same thing with women over and over again on most of their missions. Illya covered for him every time.

 

A light of triumph sparked in Solo’s eyes. “Don’t count on it Kuryakin. If you do ever do such a thing again, Waverly will hear about it.”

 

Cold rage turned Illya’s blood to ice. He pulled himself to full height and lifted his head. “Then I suggest you cancel that date I heard you make for tonight with that bumpkin Texan woman.”

 

Napoleon at least had the good grace to flush in embarrassment.

 

Illya went for the jugular. “And if this makes it into this report, I will be forced to come clean about a few irregularities left out of past ones. I’ll have to tell him the time I was in THRUSH hands for almost twenty-four hours was because you were busy in bed with Angelique,” he spat. He stalked towards his partner. “Or that incident when I was in the pouring rain fighting the leader of a THRUSH satrap while you sat in the car kissing the man’s girlfriend. Or any of the other times I was captured or the mission was almost compromised because of your libido.”

 

Illya was now close enough to bring his face within inches of Napoleon’s. “How dare you!” he snarled, voice dipping into the danger zone. “How dare you act so pious and self-righteous because I did something once that you do on almost every. Single. Assignment!” He spun on his heal and left before he fought Solo with more than mere words.

Napoleon stood frozen while his partner stalked to the door and threw it opened and closed it forcefully behind him as he left. He felt embarrassed to admit Illya was right. He had left his partner to his own devices on mission after mission in order to make time with some woman. He often felt guilty afterwards, not that he ever let Illya know that, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

 

He also knew that if he had caught Illya having sex with some woman, it wouldn't have bothered him. On the contrary. He would have congratulated his friend for finally getting laid.

 

Was he a homophobe? No. No. That wasn't it at all. He'd enjoyed his share of homosexual experiences and, as Illya pointed out, he had gay friends that he didn't care about what they got up to in the bedroom. This was because it was Illya.

 

Napoleon sat back in his chair and pondered what he’d just learned about his partner. It was as if he was seeing Illya in a new light. A very appealing light too. The image of himself fucking that muscular tight ass sent a tingle through his stomach. Would it be too much to ask the man sometime if he would be interested in sharing the bed in the penthouse? Dinner. Wine. That bearskin rug in front of the fireplace. Illya’s hair glowing, backlit by the flames.

 

Napoleon had to stop daydreaming and take a deep breath to cleanse his thoughts. He’d have to deal with Illya later. Right now he had to work on the event planning for tomorrow.

 

It was a good thing outlines had been provided from the regular director on leave. It would leave him at least some time to keep an eye on Illya. He wondered what suddenly got into the man. Illya was always so careful and this kind of thing wouldn’t be tolerated if the Kremlin ever got wind of their man practicing homosexuality. He'd have to talk to his Russian friend after the mission. By then Illya would have calmed down and would be able to understand Napoleon just didn't want to see him hurt or killed over something so unimportant.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Illya loosened his tie as he walked into the cabin he shared with Rico. The other man was lying on his back with a hand propping his head up slightly looking very relaxed.

 

“Trouble?” the man asked.

 

Illya shook his head. “No. He just wanted to go over some details for one of the events. It was nothing really.” In truth, he was angrier at Napoleon than he could ever remember being. His roommate might wonder why if he showed it, so he banked the fiery embers of his rage.

 

“No?” He rolled to his side and leaned on one arm. “Then how about we go to the casino for a while tonight after it closes?” The crew was allowed to use the recreational facilities for a couple hours after the ship’s guests were gone.

 

Illya shrugged. “I suppose so.

 

Rico picked up on something in his roommate’s mood. “Vanya? Is something wrong?”

 

Illya shook his head. “no. I just….”

 

“Just what?” Rico asked.

 

Again Illya shook his head. “Nothing. Lets go eat.”

 

Rico got up and followed the Russian out the door. “You have something on your mind my friend. I can tell,” he whispered as they walked. “Care to talk about it?”

 

In a way Illya did want to talk and he really wanted to talk to someone other than Napoleon. Someone who was more sympathetic to his situation. Right now Rico fit that profile. The man had experience and was probably safe to talk to since they would not likely see each other again once the cruise was over.

 

“Perhaps,” he replied. “But not here.”

 

Curiosity blossomed in the Spaniard. He grabbed Illya by the arm and pulled him into a storage room along the service corridor. Closing the door they stood in close quarters in the dim light.

 

“Alright. How about here? No one can hear us,” he told Illya.

 

“Don’t be silly,” Illya said about to pull the door open again. “Someone will find us and wonder what we’re doing.”

 

“No one needs the housekeeping carts at this time of night. Now tell me what’s on your mind. Is it that man who made the pass at you yesterday?”

 

Illya didn’t answer right away but he stopped trying to open the door.

 

Rico smiled. “I thought so. Did he make a pass at you again?” he asked pressing up against Illya even closer.

 

Illya lowered his eyes and nodded. “Yes. And more.”

 

“More? Tell me my friend. What more did he do?”

 

Illya longed to talk about it with someone who could help him understand what these feelings were. Napoleon would only lecture him and aside of him there was no one else he could talk to. At least Rico understood what it was like to want to love another man. Correct that. Love was an emotional state. Have sex would be the more accurate term. The biology was one thing but the cravings stirring within him now that he felt free of the Soviet reprisals were harder to understand.

 

Finally Illya began describing the encounter in the gay American’s room.

 

As Rico listened to the tale he felt the hot flush of his sex drive rising. The sound of Illya’s breathing as he talked about the touching and the sensations felt during the new experiences served to stimulate Rico even more.

 

“That was only a tiny taste of the pleasure you will feel,” Rico said as he ran a finger along the jaw line of the shy face. “Look at me Vanya. It is time you learned the real thing and it’s better you do from someone you know than a stranger who may not be as careful with you.”

 

“Learn?” Illya asked feeling the stirrings within him again, his mind subtly saying yes through the blush rising in his cheeks. “I’m not sure.”

 

“I will be careful and slow. You can say stop any moment you like and I will go no further. Will you trust me Vanya?” Rico asked brushing a hot butterfly kiss over Illya’s ear.

 

A shiver ran through Illya’s shoulders. If this would mean feeling the same thing he experienced earlier that day then he would do it. He wanted to know who he was completely now that he was free to explore a world that was previously barred with a door labeled death.

 

“I…I… trust…you,” he whispered although the Spaniard’s hands had already reached for and unfastened Illya’s belt.

 

Rico yanked him close, taking the Russian’s lips in a searing kiss. It wasn’t a gentle, loving embrace, but one filled with lust and desire. Illya responded by taking control of the kiss, practically devouring the young Spaniard’s mouth with his.

 

Rico pulled away. “No, Vanya. Let me lead this time. You know what it is like to fuck another man. I want to show you the joys of being fucked.”

 

Illya started to back away but was stopped by the closed closet door. He shook his head. “I don’t think I would like that.”

 

Rico stayed back, allowing his skittish companion space. “How do you know, Vanya? Did the man in 23 seem to dislike it when you did it to him?”

 

“No,” Illya admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I would like it.”

 

“True. But how will you know whether or not you like it unless you try it?” He took a step closer. “I can show you how good it can be.” Another step.

 

Illya watched him move slowly closer as though in a hypnotic trance. While the idea of what Rico wanted to do to him was frightening, a thrill of arousal shot through him at the same time. Adrian certainly seemed to enjoy it. Illya knew the sound of pain and the howls that came out of the designer’s mouth while they’d had sex did not arise out of pain.

 

“Please, Vanya? It will be good, I promise.” Rico now pressed Illya against the door. “If you truly do not like it after the first few minutes, I will stop and you can fuck me instead.”

 

Illya studied Rico’s dark eyes in the dim light of the closet’s overhead fixture. He saw the lust in them, but also the truth. Rico sincerely felt Illya would enjoy what he offered. Illya’s cock hardened as the image of Adrian as he looked while impaled morphed into Illya’s own face.

 

Illya felt a little nervous about it. Did he really trust Rico enough to do this? He believed the Spaniard was exactly who he said he was and not some THRUSH plant. He’d checked the man out after their first encounter. He didn’t want to be like Napoleon and end up in bed with the enemy.

 

The incredible thing was that he also felt incredibly aroused about the idea. The arousal outweighed the nervousness by quite a bit. “W-what do you want me to do?”

 

Rico kissed him gently. “Your first time should not be bent over in a little closet.” He took Illya’s hand. “Let’s go back to our room where we can be comfortable.”

 

Illya nodded but pulled his hand away. “We don’t want to advertise what we are doing,” he said. He refastened his pants and belt, then cracked the door to look out. No one wandered the halls so he opened it wide enough to slip out, Rico close behind.

 

The moment they were back in their shared room, Rico pulled Illya into another kiss. The Spaniard’s tongue took Illya’s mouth in a gentle invasion. He tasted good, felt good, and the combination of Rico’s taste and intrigue with the idea of being invaded another way made Illya’s head swim with desire.

 

Illya released control of the encounter to Rico, allowing the other man to walk him backwards until his knees hit his bed. He lay down, pulling Rico with him.

 

“Wait a minute,” the Spaniard said, standing up again. “We will need something to help with this. I don’t want to hurt you.” He dug through his underwear drawer of his side of their shared dresser and pulled out a tube. He returned waving the little tube in the air. “Lubricant. Like the American Boy Scouts, I believe in being prepared.”

 

Illya gave him a small, grateful smile. “Somehow this isn’t exactly what the Boy Scouts mean when they say that.”

 

Rico laughed. “No doubt.” He looked down at Illya. “First things first.” He leaned over and quickly and efficiently stripped the clothes off Illya. He frowned and moaned in dismay, reaching out to touch several of the numerous scars on Illya’s body. “What happened to you?” he asked, voice filled with compassion.

 

Illya took the hand and twined their fingers together. “The Soviet Union is very bad place to be for man such as myself.” The situation was making it difficult to hold onto his heavier Russian accent.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t.”

 

Rico now admired the man’s spirit as much as he admired his beautiful—if marred—body. He was more determined than ever to make sure this was a good experience for the Russian man. He quickly stripped out of his clothes and lay beside his new lover. They kissed for a few more minutes, their desire escalating quickly.

 

Rico positioned himself so he could fondle Illya’s lovely erection while slipping a greased finger past the tight ring of muscle that guarded the entrance to the beautiful body.

 

Illya groaned as he felt the finger sink into him and wiggle around. It burned a little, but it also felt good.

 

“You like that?” Rico murmured.

 

Illya nodded not wanting to trust his voice at the moment. The finger flicking inside him was giving him a pleasurable buzz. Suddenly it scraped across something and Illya saw stars explode behind his eyes. “ _Bozhe moi!_ What is that?” he yelped.

 

Rico chuckled. “That, my beautiful man, is what I call the sweet spot. Feels good, no?”

 

“Feels good, yes,” Illya groaned. “Oh, please! Do it again!”

 

Rico was more than happy to oblige. After sending his companion into orbit a few times, he pulled his fingers out. “Ready for something a little bigger?”

 

Panting with desire, Illya didn’t even think about how much bigger Rico’s cock would be. All he knew was that the fingers had felt wonderful but hadn’t quite been enough to satisfy his lust. He nodded.

 

“Turn over, then, beautiful Vanya.”

 

Illya eagerly rolled over onto his stomach, lifting his hips as Rico shoved a pillow beneath him. He felt the weight of the Spaniard rest on his back and the man’s hot breath on his ear. “I’m going to fuck you now, Vanya. If you thought the fingers felt good, wait until you feel my hard cock inside of you.”

 

Illya’s penis twitched and swelled even more in response. “Yes, please. Now.” He felt Rico shift slightly, then felt the harsh burn as a hot rod of flesh covered steel impaled him. He grunted in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. He thought about telling Rico to pull out, but he remembered the feel of the fingers and knew this hard cock would feel even better when it hit that sweet spot.

 

Rico stopped and gently ran his fingers down Illya’s spine, waiting for his lover to adjust to the invasion.

 

Illya relaxed under the easy ministrations and the burn lessened. Suddenly Rico rammed his cock home, burying himself deep inside him. Illya’s cry of pain turned to one of pure pleasure as the hard rod rammed into the same sweet spot the fingers had found.

 

Rico leaned over Illya’s back. “Yes, beautiful Vanya. Feel me. It is good, no?”

 

“Yesssssss,” Illya whispered hoarsely. He pushed his hips back, forcing Rico to go deeper, to press harder on that magical spot inside him.

 

Rico needed no more encouragement. He started fuck his companion with a vengeance. He reached around and fisted Illya’s cock in time with his own thrusts.

 

Sparks of ecstasy branched from Illya's groin to his nerve endings like fingers of lightening dancing through his body. He never would have believed how good this could feel; as good as it had felt when he buried his cock inside Adrian earlier. Better than anything he’d ever felt when fucking a woman.

 

Deep inside him, his natural sexual desires broke completely free from the prison in which Illya had locked them so long ago. They danced through him, running hot through his veins and sparkling along the edges of his nerves.

 

Illya knew he would never be the same again.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

Napoleon dressed for dinner and although he would be dining in the main dining room at the Captain’s table tonight his mind was elsewhere. The thought of Illya having sex was strange enough for the hermit like Russian but to be taking his pleasure with another man shocked the CEA.

 

Fussing with his tie in the mirror, Napoleon primped until his clothes and hair were perfect. For as much as he tried to picture the lovely lady he’d be escorting to the table his mind kept flashing to the image of a disheveled sweaty Illya grunting and writhing against another hard body. It wasn’t the designer though. The physically fit body was all too familiar but Napoleon carefully avoided seeing the face in his vision. To see it would be to admit things he didn’t want to. To admit he wanted to be the one running his hands over that pale skinned lithe body.

 

Napoleon shook his head and looked at the clock by his bed. Dinner was not long off and he had to meet his date for a drink first.

 

<><><><><><><><>

 

A moment after the knock the door of suite 45 B opened and a smiling Twyla Stout paused to lean against the frame. “My, my, my.   I was beginning to think y'all'd stood up.”

 

Napoleon bowed apologetically. “It is a large ship and duty called,” he lied. “But I promise you an excellent dinner to make up for it.” He extended an elbow. “Shall we?”

 

She turned out the light and pulled a wrap around her shoulders. “Perhaps I can give you something later on to make you more prompt next time.” Her eyes gave him that invitation all women seemed to.

 

He considered himself fortunate. Perhaps he’d have something to take his mind off Illya after all. “The night is young and full of promise,” he said with his charming best that came so naturally.

 

“Now that will be something to look forward to,” she said sauntering along beside the handsome man.

 

Napoleon fell silent as he walked her toward the lounge but his mind wandered as he kept one eye on their destination and the other on the lookout for Illya. It worried him that the man was nowhere in sight. Illya was very good at disguise but this mission required none. At least none that would hide his features and Illya did have some rather alluring features, even to Napoleon.

 

Napoleon’s mind wandered back to the time in the jungle when they’d had to dive into the lake to avoid the strafing heat rays. Illya looked so pathetic in his wet sagging clothes. And then later as they sat naked by a small fire as they let their clothes dry laid out in the sun, Napoleon recalled trying not to look at his partner for the reaction it produced in his own genital region. He didn’t want to offend the Russian by confessing his attraction for the man who obviously displayed no desire to return the interest.

 

Throughout the entire evening with the charming Miss Stout and over the next couple of days, Napoleon could barely concentrate on his work as he made it his business to keep an eye or ear on Illya’s activities. He’d discovered two other men Illya entertained a brief tryst with. Each time he managed to corner his partner afterward and in a rank pulling tone insisted that he stop sleeping around. It was futile and only resulted in having his own behavior thrown back into his face. Napoleon just couldn’t help wanting to stop Illya and wouldn’t admit to himself that it was jealousy talking no matter how many times he claimed that he was only thinking of UNCLE’s best interests.

 

They had only one more day of travel at sea before they would arrive back at the dock in Galveston, Texas. He needed to get this problem settled with his partner now, _before_ they went on another assignment. He locked the door to his office before assembling his communicator. Personnel had recently hounded both him and Illya recently about taking some accumulated vacation time and Galveston was lovely this time of year.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Illya lay in his bed drifting on the edge of sleep but not yet attaining it. Sexually he was utterly and completely sated, yet somehow he had a vague lack of satisfaction. Certainly not because of his bed partners. Adrian had invited his assistant Robert to join them and together the two of them gave Illya an experience he would not soon forget.

 

No, their combined talents weren’t the reason for the feeling plaguing him these days. It also wasn’t his sexual experimentation with men. That, at least, felt right. Nothing else did. Not exactly. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed his time with Rico, Adrian, and the others.

 

_Bozhe moi!_ He was acting just like Napoleon! Fucking when he should have been working. Well, not quite true. He only did it when it was Napoleon’s turn to watch Miss Al-Jahar. Still, it wasn’t like him to do these things while in the middle of an active assignment. Even a frivolous one.

 

Of course, he had left Napoleon with a little extra work here and there. He supposed that was a bit unfair. He flushed with sudden anger at that thought. As though Napoleon never did such a thing to him. Regularly. About time the sex-crazed American got a taste of his own medicine. Besides, Napoleon only worked as much as Illya did on this trip, unlike most other missions where Illya did most of the work while Napoleon sat back until the excitement began.

 

So he established he hadn’t shirked his duties in order to explore this facet of his new freedoms; felt no guilt at equalizing the partnership duties a bit; and enjoyed sex with men far, far more than with women, thus answering a question nagging at him since he first felt the stirrings of sexual desire.

 

Why did he feel like something was missing? He rubbed his face with his hands. As much as he enjoyed all the sex the last few days, it made him feel a little tainted. Unclean. Not because of the men. He felt this way with women, too. One reason he so seldom found a bed partner even of the feminine persuasion.

 

He simply wasn’t like Napoleon. As cold, calculating, and callused he was, he never really cared for the faceless sex act. Always felt the only difference between the way Napoleon did things and picking up a prostitute was the form of payment. Oh, Napoleon proudly said he didn’t have to pay for sex but either he was fooling himself or he was just a fool in that area. After the money spent wining and dining a woman, not to mention the energy spent trying to woo her into bed with no guarantee of ending up there, Napoleon probably spent more on dating than he would on a lady of the evening.

 

No, Illya was afraid he—the Ice Prince of U.N.C.L.E., the man with the reputation of total ruthlessness and lack of emotion—wanted more out of a relationship than just sex. Ironic. He desired that which he could not have—love—and easily attained that which he did not desire—sex for the sake of sex.

 

Love, of course, was a pipe dream. Completely out of his reach. He was an agent for U.N.C.L.E. Never mind the whole idea that a love interest would provide his enemies with a hostage to use against him, he couldn’t trust anyone enough to allow them close enough to attain that lofty title. No one he could relax with enough to sleep with afterwards without fear of waking up dead. As it stood now, he never slept with his sex partners. He fucked them, or they fucked him as the case may be, and then he went back to his own bed, his back to the wall and hand under the pillow resting on his gun. He trusted no one.

 

Except Napoleon, of course. His relationship with his American partner was easy. Fun. Relaxing. Interesting. Enjoyable. He smiled as he thought of how much he liked spending time with his partner and best friend. They were best friends, he had no doubt of that. On Napoleon’s part, as well. He knew Napoleon felt the same about him. Knew they both regarded the other as an island of sanity in a sea of confusion and chaos. Each other’s anchor, each man keeping the other stable in the turbulence of their dangerous world.

 

Napoleon should be his lover. That would be perfect. He smiled dreamily at the thought, his mind drifting along drowsy currents. He was handsome. Too handsome for his own good, really, especially since the bastard knew it. They got along famously. Best of all, Illya loved him.

 

Illya’s eyes sprang opened and he bolted upright in his bed, banging his head on the bottom of the bunk above him. He hissed and held his head in pain, not knowing which hurt worse: the blow to the head or the sudden realization that he was in love with his partner.

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

One in the morning and Napoleon couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, stared out the porthole, listened to the sound of the gulf waters caressing the ship. Nothing would settle his mind of the disquieting feelings stirring within him. He was so exasperated with Illya, he just wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he opened his eyes and saw how outrageous he was behaving. Illya was on his mind and he knew he’d get no sleep until he went and talked it out with him.

 

Napoleon got up and pulled on a housecoat. He slid his feet into some loafers and went to the phone. He didn’t care if Illya was sleeping. It was time they get this straightened out once and for all if they were to remain partners. Napoleon dialed the crew's room where Illya was assigned.

 

After three rings an irritated voice answered. “Hello?”

 

“Vanya. You know who this is and I want you to report to room 18 F.”

 

There was a pause as Illya pondered refusing Napoleon assumed. “Avoiding me won’t change anything Illya,” he said. “We talk now tonight or tomorrow night in front of Waverly.”

 

Illya let out a long sigh. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

 

Napoleon found the acceptance pleasing for some reason. Even a little thrilling. Why was that so? The man just annoyed the hell out of him yet at the same time he was the only person Napoleon trusted implicitly. He had to admit it was true. He’d never come to trust any other partner the way he trusted Illya.

 

Napoleon sat down on the edge of his bed thinking about what he would say to his partner when he got there. Reprimanding the man had done no good. In fact, he thought maybe that pushed Illya even farther along in his behavior. In a way Illya was right. Napoleon was the pot calling the kettle black. It made him cringe.

 

The self recriminations were interrupted by the knock at the door. Napoleon got up ready to face whatever came of this. He opened the door. “Illya. Come in please.”

 

The Russian walked in wearing a face that said he was going to be a brick wall no matter what Napoleon said. “I am here. Start talking,” he demanded.

 

Napoleon opened his mouth but stopped before he said something he’d regret. Instead he closed his eyes and shook his head. “Let’s not fight about this anymore. Okay?”

 

Illya was prepared to stand firm but this caught him by surprise. With his newly admitted feelings for Napoleon he didn’t know what to say. “I…I don’t want to argue either.”

 

Napoleon thought that honey might be the better approach this time. He softened his tone. “Good. How about having a seat? Let’s talk about things.”

 

Illya sat down rigidly. “You aren’t going to change my mind. I’m free to live my life how I choose now.”

 

Napoleon nodded. “I suppose you are but maybe you are going a little over the top,” he suggested. “How many people have you had sex with the last few days?”

 

“That’s none of your business,” Illya snapped back.

 

“Too many. That’s what I thought,” Napoleon replied as if the non answer told him everything he needed to know. He paused in thought before saying, “Why Illya? What is it you need? What are you looking for out of all this?”

 

_You._ No. That would be too bizarre for Napoleon to understand. _Having fun._ Simple but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to Napoleon either. They’d always been truthful to each other in the past.

 

“Well?” Napoleon asked waiting patiently.

 

Illya stared at him, unsure what to say. How could he explain that which he, himself, did not quite understand? Or that which he had sublimated and suppressed his entire life for fear of horrible, possibly fatal, reprisals?

 

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back in misery. After a long moment of silence he looked at his friend. For the first time he saw beyond his Napoleon’s anger over his behavior and saw his very real concern. It touched him more than he might have imagined. He sighed. He owed Napoleon the truth. All of it.

He shrugged, not sure how to put this into words. “Freedom.” Might as well start there.

 

“Excuse me?” Napoleon asked in surprise.

 

“I know you won’t understand this, Napoleon, but I have never enjoyed the same sense of freedom you do.”

 

Sensing a long session, Napoleon pulled over the only other chair in the room over and positioned it close so he could look into Illya’s face. “Of course you do.” He waved his hand to stop Illya from contradicting him. “Oh, I know you didn’t when you lived in the Soviet Union, but since you’ve been in the West you have the same rights and freedoms as everyone else.”

 

Illya snorted and shook his head. “That, my friend, is probably the only truly naïve thing I’ve ever heard you utter.”

 

Furrows formed between Napoleon’s brows and his lips quirked in indignation. “Naïve is not a word I’ve ever heard attributed to me.”

 

A small smile played at the corners of Illya’s mouth. “I’m glad to be your first.” His amusement fell away as he realized the double entendre of the statement. How he would love to be Napoleon’s first. Impossible now, of course, but the very thought made his icy heart melt just a little.

 

“Napoleon,” he said, forcing himself back to the conversation at hand, “I may be living in the West, but up until recently, I was not a citizen of the Western world. I was a Soviet citizen and as such I was subjected to the same scrutiny and restrictions as any other Soviet citizen. More since I was living in the decadent West and they were afraid it might corrupt me. Now that I am an American citizen, I want to explore this, what is to me, new concept.”

 

Napoleon nodded slowly. “Okay. I can accept that. But surely they have sex in the Soviet Union.” He smiled. “Otherwise there wouldn’t be little Soviet citizens running around.”

 

Illya’s answering smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. It is even permissible to be promiscuous as long as you say you are trying to replace all those who died in the Great Patriotic War and repopulate the Motherland.”

 

Napoleon snorted. “Patriotism is a wonderful thing. That still doesn’t explain your recent behavior or answer . . .” He stopped, eyes widening in dawning realization. “Oh!” he breathed. “Oh, Illya! How long . . . Have you always been . . . Have you always been attracted to . . . men?”

 

Illya looked down at his folded hands where they rested in his lap. “Yes.”

 

Napoleon never knew so much pain, fear, and confusion could be conveyed with just one word. With a gentle hand he reached over and cupped Illya’s chin in his fingers. Urging the pale face upward to look him in the eyes, Napoleon said, “Illya. It’s not a crime. I don’t hate you for your … preferences. In fact I admire you.”

 

The blue eyes blinked and Illya cocked his head slightly. “Admire me? Why?” he asked a little confused by Napoleon’s reaction. “You’ve been arguing with me for days about this.”

 

Napoleon nodded and dropped his gaze. “I know. I’ve been a real jerk haven’t I?”

 

“Yes… Uh…” Illya stammered. “I mean no… Er… Not really,” he replied unsure of what he even wanted to say.

 

“Don’t try making excuses for me Illya. I’ve come to my own realizations.” Napoleon stated.

 

Illya was worried. Did this mean their partnership was dissolving? Was Napoleon going to request another partner be assigned to him? He became anxious and suddenly regretted his promiscuity. “Napoleon, I didn’t mean for this to come between us,” he said with puppy dog eyes.

 

Napoleon shook his head. “Don’t say anything until I finish what I need to here.”

 

“But--”

 

“No,” Napoleon said and put a finger to Illya’s lips to silence him. “I have to say this Illya. You might hate me for it but it’s better to get it out in the open.”

 

This is it, Illya thought. The end of a wonderful and productive partnership. One he could depend upon for so much more than he ever let himself believe with any other working counterpart.

 

Napoleon cleared his throat as he steadied himself to bravely admit that which he almost tried to deny. “Illya. I think the reason I’ve been so upset with you is jealousy. My jealousy,” he said and then looked back into Illya’s soulful eyes.

 

Illya sat puzzled. “Jealousy?” he asked in a whisper barely able to speak.

 

A warm hand cupped Illya’s chin once more. With nervous hesitation Napoleon leaned forward and gave Illya a soft kiss on the lips. He waited for the reaction.

 

A moment later Illya raised his hand to cover Napoleon’s and held it close to his chest so he could feel the heartbeat. Then he leaned forward and kissed Napoleon back. At first as light and tender as Napoleon’s but then deepened it, pulling him even closer.

 

Napoleon leaned back slightly. “I can show you something no one else can,” he told Illya as he tugged the tie away from Illya’s shirt.

 

Illya was enjoying the thrill of the moment. “What is that?” he asked pleased that they were together like this.

 

“I can show you what sex is like with someone who truly loves you,” he said and moved in for another sizzling kiss filled with passion.

 

Illya pushed Napoleon away and studied him. Was he serious about this or was Napoleon just trying to manipulate him? He saw the answer in Napoleon’s loving brown eyes. “I would like to know how that feels.”

 

With a relieved smile, Napoleon pulled him to his feet and led him to the bed. He gently pushed Illya down and started to remove his clothes. Illya reached for the button of his pants to help but Napoleon pushed his hand away. “Let me do it, Illya. Let me love you.” He kissed Illya once more and then returned to divesting him of his clothing.

 

Illya lay still and allowed his dark lover free rein. Napoleon nipped, kissed, licked, and sucked, worshipping every inch of Illya’s body. Napoleon was right. Making love with someone who cared about him, and about whom he cared, was so very much better than mindlessly fucking.

 

Several hours later they both lay on Napoleon’s bed so sated they could barely move. “Will you promise me not to sleep with those other men?” Napoleon asked as he looked down at his lover, his fingers lightly combing through Illya’s silky blond hair.

 

“Mmm,” Illya hummed, eyes closed in total relaxation.

 

“Ah, what exactly does ‘mmm’ mean?”

 

Illya opened his eyes and regarded Napoleon seriously. “Do you promise not to sleep with women?”

 

“That’s not fair,” Napoleon objected. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

 

“Infidelity is infidelity no matter what gender you cheat with.”

 

Napoleon’s lips twisted in irritation. “I’m not quite ready to go that far.”

 

Illya shrugged. “Fair enough since I’m not ready to make such a promise to you, either. This is my first taste of freedom, after all. Why should I want to lose it again so soon?”

 

A gurgling noise sounded in Napoleon’s throat. “You can’t keep fucking all these men!” he sputtered.

 

“Why not? I can be discreet. Certainly more than you.”

 

Napoleon scowled. “All right. I agree. I will give up women if you will give up other men.”

 

Illya smirked at his friend and now lover. “I suppose that would be okay. It wouldn’t be the same with them now anyway.”

 

“What about your newfound freedom? Sure you’re willing to give it up?”

 

“If you continue what you just did, I will not miss it at all.”

 

Napoleon grinned in satisfaction. “I’m glad you enjoyed what I did for you.”

 

Illya grimaced. “Don’t get a swelled head, Napoleon.”

 

Napoleon looked down at his groin. “Too late.”

 

Illya followed his gaze to the impressive erection once again burgeoning between his lover’s thighs. “So I see.” He glanced up from under his bangs with an impish gleam in his eye. He grasped Napoleon’s cock as he thrust his own hard staff into his lover’s hand. “Shall we shake on it?”


End file.
